Miss Sawyer's curiosity was satisfied."

No sooner had the door closed after the worthy merchant, than his daughter proceeded to prepare herself for the interview with one who, in all probability, was to be her future husband. Bonnets and dresses were tried on, and then thrown on one side as not "becoming her." Blue was discarded, for it did not suit her complexion; red was too gaudy, black too gloomy, and purple too neat. At length a suitable dress was selected; and Miss Sawyer set out for 72, George Street, (as she afterwards expressed herself) "all in a twitteration."

"Is this Mr. White's?" she inquired, staring full at the gold letters in which the name was painted over the door.

"It is, ma'am," replied the tradesman. "Is-ahem-can you tell me-whether-whether a gentleman of the name of " Miss Sawyer was perplexed; for she was as yet ignorant of any more of the appellation of her correspondent than the initials "Q. Q.;" but she was relieved from her predicament by Mr. White, who inquired, with a bow, " And pray, ma'am, is it in reply to any advertisements ?"

"Yes," answered Miss Sawyer, blushing to the top of her forehead.

"Oh then," rejoined the tradesman, "will you walk into the back parlour, if you please?"

The lady sat down, and waited anxiously for the appearance of her correspondent. Hark!—yes, there was the sound of footsteps crossing the shop; and then there was the voice of the tradesman, inviting some person into the parlour."Here he comes," thought Miss Sawyer, "oh dear, what shall I say what shall I do? I feel so queer-O la!"

fore, resolved to defend it to the last, and their women and children had been sent from the rude village deeper into the recesses of the forest. Circumstances, however, changed this determination on the morning of the day upon which Count Frontenac intended to advance. Two of the Hurons deserted from the forces of the Count, and gave the Onondagoes, to whose assistance neither of the associate tribes had yet arrived, such an appalling description of the French, that they dared not remain and give battle. "Yonnondio's army," they said, "was like the leaves on the trees-more numerous than the pigeons that fly to the north after the season of snows. They were armed," they said, “with great guns that threw up huge balls high towards the sun; and when these balls fell into their castle they would explode, and scatter fire and death every where." Upon this intelligence, the sachems gathered into a group around the council-fire for consultation. Their piercing eye-balls, which were at first burning with indignation, soon drooped suddenly to the earth, as they reflected upon the impossibility of contending against such wea pons, while their dusky countenances gathered darkness with the gloom. Some of the principal chiefs having interchanged a few words in an under tone, there was a call to bring Thurenserat to the council-fire. A dozen young warriors instantly sprang upon their feet, and bounded towards the principal wigwam of the village with the swiftness of greyhounds. Ere many seconds had elapsed they returned, bearing upon a rudely-constructed litter an aged and venerable-looking chief, whose head was whitened by the snows of more than a hundred winters. He had been foremost on the war-path and first at the council-fire, before the great canoes of the pale-faces had touched the shores which the Great Spirit had given them. The young men treated their burden with the utmost care and deference, and the aged chieftain was seated at the foot of a tall

"Mary!" exclaimed the merchant, starting back. "Father!" screamed his daughter, falling into her chair. "Here, Mrs. White!" shouted her husband, bring the sal werlatterly! here's a lady fainting! Oh dear, what's to be done? Mrs. White,-Mrs. White, I say!"

for support. A brief but solemn pause ensued, during which all eyes were directed to the venerable father of the council. At length the veteran sachem raised his head, and looking about upon the group of chiefs and warriors gathered anxiously around him, he broke silence as follows:

"Why have my children brought Thurensera to the council-fire? The Great Spirit will soon call him to his

THE GRAVE OF THE INDIAN KING. (Concluded from page 249.)

THE castle of the Onondagoes was situate in the midst of the deep and beautiful valley to which we have already referred, and through which the Onondaga river winds its way to the lake. Count Frontenac with his motley forces had made a halt near the licks, and thrown up some temporary defences. The site of the castle was but five or six miles distant from the French camp. It was a sacred spot in the eyes of the Indians, as the seat of the grand councils which had for ages regulated the affairs of the fierce and

Thurensera's eyes are dim, and his limbs, no longer like the bending sapling, are stiff, like the scathed trees of the burnt prairies. He can no more bend the strong bow. He cannot go forth on the warpath, or recount the deeds of his fathers to the young men at the council-fire. Thurensera is a woman, but his father was a great chief; and," elevating his voice, he added, "I can now see him sitting upon a cloud fringed with the red lightning, and beckoning me to come. Why have my children called Thurensera? and why do their eyes rest upon the ground, and their spirits droop like the hawk, when struck by the young eagle ?"

After another pause, and a moment's consultation among the chiefs, one of the bravest warriors informed the sage of the intelligence received from Yonnondio's camp, and of the peril of their situation; they had, therefore, sent to their father for counsel in this emergency.

Once more there was silence-still as the forest shades, when not a leaf rustles in the breeze, not a stick breaks

The name by which the Five Nations designated the French governor. Cayenguirago was the name they gave to the English governors.

+ A name among the Five Nations signifying the "Dawning of the Light."

beneath the light tread of the fox. The venerable sage hid his furrowed countenance in his withered hands, as if deeply engaged in thought, while the dark group of chiefs and warriors gathered more closely around, all ready to obey his counsel, be it what it might; and all anxious, as it were, to drink in the wisdom that was for the last time, perhaps, to flow from his lips. At length the chieftain of more than thirteen hundred moons slowly raised his head, and spake as follows:

"My children, a cloud has gathered over our councilfire, and you must fly! Yonnondio is come among us with his people, like a flock of birds. You must not wait till you see the big ball of thunder coming to your destruction, or the star of day and night, that breaks when it falls to burn your castle and your wigwams.

"My children, you have been like the lynx on the trail, and made the war-path red with the blood of your enemies. But you must fly, until joined by the Oneydoes, the Cayugas, and the Senekas, when you can come back on your enemies, and spring upon them like the hungry panther. You will spring on them while they are asleep, and the fire-balls cannot burst upon you, to kill my warriors and burn up their wigwams.

"My children, Thurensera will stay.to show Yonnondio's pale-faces how to die. Yomnondio shall see what a Mingo can bear without a cry of pain. He shall see what his children will have to fear, when my sons assemble their warriors, and come upon his settlements in their wrath. "My children! when you pass this way, look for my bones. Bury them deep in the bosom of the earth, who is my mother, on the hill looking towards the rising sun, by the lake that is beautiful. Put into my grave my pipe, my hatchet, and my bow, that I may chase the moose and the buffalo in the hunting grounds of the Great Spirit.

"My children, you must fly! Keep the covenant chain of our tribes bright as silver, and let it bind you together like strong iron. Put the brand to your castle and your wigwams, that Yonnondio may get no booty but the scalp of Thurensera. Let the rain of heaven wash all the bad from your hearts, that we may again smoke together in friendship in the happy country of the Great Spirit. Thurensera has no more to say."

The aged chief was listened to throughout with the most profound attention. The subsequent deliberation was brief, for time was pressing, and the decision of the council was unanimous, to avoid an engagement and retire into the forest. The chiefs and warriors, and the young men in particular, were exceedingly reluctant to leave the venerable sachem, by whose wisdom they had so long been guided, and by whose arm so often led to victory; but he was resolute in his purpose, and inflexible in his determination. He gathered himself into an attitude of perfect composure, and turning his face in the direction from which Frontenac was expected, prepared to meet his fate. Meantime the sachems and warriors, having hastily completed their arrangements, took their final leave of the old chieftain, applied the brand to their dwellings, and disappeared in the thick wilderness.

The Count Frontenac, astonished at the sight of the ascending columns of smoke, as they rose in dense and curling masses towards the sky, moved rapidly forward, but it was to an empty conquest. The huts and the rude works of the Indians were already in ashes. The old chief, Thurensera, was found by the trunk of the elm, with the same stoical composure with which he had been left; and Frontenac's Indians had, by his permission, the pleasure of tormenting him. He bore their tortures with unflinching firmness. Not a muscle moved, not a limb quivered; not a sigh, not a groan escaped him. At length they stabbed him in several places.

66

"Go on, ye tormentors!" he exclaimed, with an energy belonging to former days ; " the old eagle has received the death-arrow in his breast. He will never soar again but in the bright skies of the Great Spirit. You cannot harm him. The Great Spirit," he continued, "has touched my eyes, and I see through the clouds of death the warriors who have raised the war-cry with me in other times. They are walking on the winds and playing on the clouds. I see the dark waters which all must pass. Those dark waters are the tears shed by the Great Spirit for the evil deeds of his children. Go on, ye tormentors! ye Indians who take the scalp for Yonnondio! ye dogs of dogs! But why stab me with the long knife? You had better burn me with fire, that the Frenchman may know how to die. Tear me to pieces: roast me at the war-feast: scatter my ashes to the winds: crumble my bones in the salt lake. Yonnondio's Indians! listen to the voice of the Manitto, while he bids Thurensera tell what is to come upon you. Your race is to be as the river dried up-as the dead trees of the forest, when the fire has gone over it. The white man who sent Yonnondio over the great salt lake, in the big canoe, will lose his power. A Wolf is to walk abroad, that will scatter the pale-faces at Quebec like a flock of sheep, and drive them out of the red man's land. The white men with Cayenguirago, who is our friend, will come over the land like the leaves. The panther is bounding to the setting sun; the bear moves slowly off the ground; the deer and the buffalo leap over the mountains and are seen no more. The forest bows before the white man. The great and little trees fall before his big hatchet. The white man's wigwams rise like the hill tops, and are as white as the head of the bald eagle. waters shall remain; and when the red man is no more, the names he gave them shall last. The Great Spirit has said it. A hundred warriors are coming to lead me on the trail to the happy hunting grounds. Think of me, ye tormentors, when my sons come upon you like the chafed panther in his swiftness and his strength. Great Spirit, I come!" Thus died Thurensera, with a greatness of soul worthy of a sachem of the Five Nations.

The

When the invader had retired, the Onondagoes conveyed the remains of the lofty Thurensera to the hill of the Skaneatelas, and buried him in the "Grave of the Indian King." And in this hallowed spot his ashes have reposed in peace, the little mound becoming more holy by the lapse of years, and the tradition more interesting as lights and shadows were imparted to it by those whose imaginations were kindled by the relation, until the autumn of the year of grace 1829, when it was visited by an English savant, who spent some months with the hospitable proprietor of the consecrated mound. This gentleman had travelled much, and had been a great collector of curiosities. He had killed alligators in the Delta of the Mississippi, and chased buffaloes in California. He had hunted elephants in South Africa, and tigers in the jungles of Bengal. He had rescued an urn from the ruins of Herculaneum, and dug an ibis, and a thigh-bone of one of the Pharaohs, from the pyramids of Grand Cairo. And he was resolved to penetrate the secrets of the Indian's grave, and if possible to obtain the pipe, the tomahawk, and the hunting apparatus, if not the canoe, of the venerable chief, to enrich the great museum of the capital of his native land. Accordingly, with great secrecy, he repaired thither one moonlight night in October, armed with crowbar and shovel. But, alas for the worthy collector of curiosities, and the veracity of traditional history!-a bed of compact limestone rock, within a few inches of the surface of the earth, soon taught the gothic invader of the grave that no grave had ever been there!

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE ORPHAN BOY.

"WHY dost thou mourn so sad, my boy,
And tears bedim thine eye;
What sorrow clouds thy every joy,

And whence that heaving sigh ?"
O gentle sir," that orphan said,
"My grief is sad to tell,
For I have seen my parents laid

Within their silent cell.

Oh! I have seen the pangs of death

Steal slowly o'er their frame,

And heard them with their parting breath, Pronounce my dear-loved name.

And I have wept, and still must weep;

I never can be gay,

For in my dreams as I do sleep,

To them I'm borne away."

"Oh, do not weep, my little boy,

But wash thy tears away,

For why should grief so soon destroy
Thy pleasures, bright and gay?"

But still that little orphan wept,
And fast his tears did flow,

While o'er his heart emotion crept

In all the grief of woe.

"And they are gone," he said, " away To those bright realms and fair, Where all are robed in pure array,Ah! would that I were there!"

VARIETIES.

A.W.

FRENCH BEGGARS.-The beggars by profession begin, as soon as you are in sight, with a monotonous drawl of set words, all pronounced on one key, and precisely the same to every passer by. Perhaps it is well for their own interest that they generally ask you to give for the merit of the gift, or the prayers they promise to breathe for you, for certainly there is nothing in themselves to prompt it. How different have I often thought it was from the genuine eloquence of Irish beggary, which makes the heart ache so bitterly that it would almost be a relief to give one's last sixpence! The begging in France is simply asking for money, while the beggar often looks all the time as comfortable and well fed as yourself. It is true they only ask for one sous; but in the valley of Campan, when you have given them that, they make no scruple to ask you for another. Nor is this only on the public roads. There is scarcely any place so retired but you hear the pattering of little bare feet behind you, then loud breathing which diffuses around you the perfume of garlic; and, as soon as you look around, the demand is made and persisted in for. a length of time proportioned to the ability of the supplicant to keep pace with you.

IMMENSE HALLS OF Moscow.-Moscow contains many fine monuments and public buildings, and several halls, which for magnitude, are certainly unequalled in any other city of Europe. In one of these halls, which has a beautiful roof of wood-work, and which is heated by stoves, the Czar

sometimes reviews a corps of two thousand men, partly cavalry; and they have ample room to go through their

manœuvres.

DEATH.-Death, to those unaccustomed to witness it, and more especially the death of one we love and have long associated with, has a stunning, stupefying effect upon the mind; we cannot immediately believe, or understand, as it were, that the object we so lately saw move, however slightly -heard breathe, however faintly-is at once silent and motionless for ever.-Poole.

PROGRESS OF SCIENCE.-In the infancy of a science, there is no speculation so absurd as not to merit examinations. The most remote and fanciful explanations of facts have often been found the true ones; and opinions which have in one century been objects of ridicule, have in the next been admit. ted among the elements of our knowledge. The physical world teems with wonders, and the various forms of matter exhibit to us properties and relations far more extraordinary than the wildest fancy could have conceived. Human reason stands appalled before this magnificent display of creative power, and they who have drunk deepest of its wisdom will be the least disposed to limit the excursions of physical speculation. The influence of the imagination, as an instrument of research, has, we think, been much overlooked by those who have ventured to give laws to philosophy. This faculty is of the greatest value in physical inquiries; if we use it as a guide and confide in its indications, it will infallibly deceive us; but, if we employ it as an auxiliary, it will afford us the most invaluable aid. Its operation is like that of the light troops which are sent out to ascertain the strength and position of an enemy. When the struggle commences, their services terminate; and it is by the solid phalanx of the judgment that the battle must be fought and won.-Sir D. Brewster.

WHAT IS MOST CONDUCIVE TO MAN'S HAPPINESS.-It is said that the Persians, in their ancient constitutions, had public schools, in which virtue was taught as a liberal art or science; and it is certainly of more consequence to a man that he has learnt to govern his passions in spite of tempta tions, to be just in his dealings, to be temperate in his pleasures, to support himself with fortitude under his misfor tunes, to behave with prudence in all his affairs, and in every circumstance of his life. I say it is of much more real advantage to him to be thus qualified, than to be a master of all the arts and sciences in the world beside.-Franklin.

PRACTICAL WISDOM.-Bacon says "In this theatre of man's life, God and angels only should be lookers-on; that contemplation and action ought ever to be united, a conjunction like that of the two highest planets-Saturn the planet of rest, and Jupiter the planet of action." It is in this con junction, which seems to Bacon so desirable, that practical wisdom delights; and on that account it is supposed by some men to have a tinge of baseness in it. They do not know that practical wisdom is as far from what they term expediency as it is from impracticability itself. They see how much of compromise there is in all human affairs. At the same time they do not perceive that this compromise, which should be the nice limit between wilfulness and a desertion of the light that is within us, is the thing of all others which requires the diligent exercise of that uprightness which they fear to put in peril, and which, they persuade themselves, will be strengthened by inactivity. They fancy, too, that high moral resolves and great principles are not for daily use, and that there is no room for them in the affairs of this life. This is an extreme delusion; for how is the world ever made call practical; not by setting one evil thing to counteract better? Not by mean, little schemes, which some men fondly another but by the introduction of those principles of action last acknowledged and acted upon as common truths.— which are at first looked upon as theories, but which are at Essays in the Intervals of Business.

:

dare to tell a falsehood, but should not dare to conceal the HISTORIANS. The relater of history should not only never

truth.-Cicero.

SATURDAY JOURNAL, price 6s. 6d. handsomely bound in cloth, may be had of all Booksellers.

Vol. I. of the New and Pictorial Series of the LONDON

LONDON:

W. BRITTAIN, PATERNOSTER ROW. Edinburgh: JOHN MENZIES. Glasgow: D. BRYCE. Dublin: CURRY & CO.

Printed by J. Rider, 14, Bartholomew Close.